


You Deserve Better

by quietrook



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, also his parents arent dead in this au. which is relevant bc hes a lil more confident, flowershop au, for the trc cdth prompt week, its also mothers day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24383299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietrook/pseuds/quietrook
Summary: Adam Parrish decides maybe he deserves flowers on Mother's Day, as part of what he's owed. Ronan Lynch works at a flowershop owned by his family.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 12
Kudos: 98
Collections: TRC/ CDTH Prompt Week 2020





	You Deserve Better

**Author's Note:**

> for the first day of the prompt week! i had a lot of fun with this and got really attached to the concept, so I might write more for it later.

There were certain events that led people to be in the position Adam was in, he thought. He was walking into a flower shop, the day before Mother’s Day, having thought through his plan of action maybe... once or twice? He had gotten paid this week, and he had known Mother’s Day was coming up because he was dreading working through it as a cashier, and he had been thinking that his shabby kitchen table was a little bare, and he had walked by this shop last week, and… well, he liked flowers. Adam had come to the conclusion that he should get flowers for himself for the occasion, considering how much he felt he was owed by his own mother. 

It had been almost three years since Adam had seen his parents, having visited them one last time after graduation. He had been living on his own for longer, but he felt he had to say goodbye. Or maybe he was giving them one last chance to pretend to care, or to be sorry. Either way, it had been the end, but the lasting effects of the way they had raised him hadn’t disappeared just because he had. He couldn’t afford to go to therapy as much as he would like, but he went once a month. He wondered what his therapist would say when he visited the next time, sure to ask about the holiday. Adam would tell him about the flowers. Unashamed.

The bell on the door had done little to alert the man behind the counter, someone Adam was only a little surprised to see. When he had walked down this street last week, a young man about his age had been sitting on the curb eating something out of a white takeout box. From the tattoos that swirled around his neck and arms and the buzzed haircut that adorned his skull, Adam had wondered if he was from the tattoo shop across the street, but the thought hadn’t quite fit for some reason. This felt right, somehow, despite the all-black and the tattoos. The man fit in here in a way Adam wasn’t sure he’d fit in at a parlor. Adam approached the counter.

“Hey,” Adam said, and waited for the man to look up. 

Slowly, the buzzed head raised and sharp, blue eyes stared at him.

"What?" 

It wasn't the way he said it that caught Adam off guard, like he could care less whether or not Adam bought something. It was the startling edge of his features, like someone had drawn too roughly with charcoal. It wasn't unpleasant to look at, and he kept thinking about it for a second after he looked away. Adam discreetly searched for a nametag on the man's black shirt, but found none.

"What would you put in a bouquet for someone that says 'You deserve the best'?" Adam asked.

"Whatever you want," he replied, eyebrows scrunching like this was a question he hated answering.

"But I mean, what kind of flowers mean similar things?"

"I don't know what the fuck flowers mean," the man said, more matter-of-fact than rude. "But there's some books of flower language or whatever over there."

Adam followed the nod to a small rack of books. He felt stupid; there was no reason someone working at a flower shop should necessarily know what they meant. He was just a little on edge; he wasn't expecting the vibe the cashier had, and he hated being caught off guard by things.

He picked up a small book that labelled itself  _ Flowerpedia _ . It somehow seemed more approachable than  _ The Language of Flowers for Dummies _ . He thumbed through it for a second, and looked at the sticker on the back. $8.99 was near the limit of what he'd wanted to spend on flowers, not including a dumb book he might never read again. He glanced up front.

"Do I have to buy this to look through it?"

"I don't care," came the reply, which was about what Adam was expecting. "Why don't you just pick stuff she'll like?"

Adam hesitated, and put the book back. 

"She?"

The man looked at Adam like he was stupid.

"Your mom," he said, like it was obvious. And it probably should have been, but Adam wasn't thinking clearly now.

"Right," he said, and straightened up. "My mom." 

He walked around a little bit, through rows of shelving. They were organized by color, in some places; in others, they just seemed… random. He made his way back up front. 

"What's her favorite color?" the guy asked. "That's usually what people do. Favorite colors or flowers, not meanings that nobody fuckin' knows anyway."

"But you're running low on books," Adam pointed out.

"Can't say my advice doesn't go unappreciated." 

"They're not for my mom," Adam said, more for himself than the other man.

Eyebrows knitted together, he stared at Adam again. 

“Tomorrow’s Mother’s Day,” he said.

“Yeah. I know,” Adam replied brusquely. 

“Your poor mom.”

“I don’t think she’ll really mind,” he muttered, turning away. His ears burned; he knew what he was doing looked shitty. Whatever. 

“Is she dead? Or you don’t have one? Or she’s bad? Or … well, fuck, a lot of things could be wrong. Sorry, man.”

And he really did sound sorry. Adam turned and read the name of the first flowers he saw: allium.

“I’ll have those,” he said by way of answering. “The alliums.”

“Those are more for decorating a bouquet,” the man said. “Like a garnish. If you like yellow, though, I can make something with that in mind.”

“Whatever,” Adam said, feeling less and less like he wanted to be there. This was all so stupid. He shouldn’t have come in here. 

As the man left the counter to gather things, Adam said, “And no, she’s not dead.”

“Sorry she sucks, then.” He had appeared back behind the counter with a bouquet of yellows and whites. Daisies, Adam recognized. And tulips.

“Thanks,” he said dryly. “How much?”

“Mother’s Day special. Five bucks.”

There were no signs for the special, Adam thought. And they weren’t for his mother. Was he just being nice? Not one to look a gift cashier in the mouth, Adam dug a crumpled up five out of his jeans pocket. Money was exchanged for the flowers, and the cashier went back to pretending he didn’t care Adam was there. Adam was about to walk away when he hesitated, turned to look back.

“Thanks,” he said. “Have a great day.” 

Outside, the sound of the bell still ringing in his ears, he looked at the bouquet. It really was very nice, a small sort of extravagance Adam wasn’t used to. He noticed there was a note card tied around it. Curious, he lifted it up.

_ You deserve the best, _ it read, in messily scrawled handwriting. Underneath that was a phone number, and the name  _ Ronan. _

Adam smiled to himself as he walked back to his car. Maybe he would call when he got home. Maybe.


End file.
